In the Absence of Apology
The next morning was a weekend, but the mood in the mansion was anything but calm. Damian sat at the dining table, his jaw tight, fingers drumming against the polished wood. The more he replayed yesterday's events in his mind, the more his irritation simmered into a slow, controlled rage.
He had waited for Eva.
Waited over an hour.
First in the car, then by the building. She never came.
Irritation had turned to concern when she vanished without a trace. A security guard claimed to have seen her near the restroom, so Damian had gone there, standing for over thirty minutes, expecting her to appear. When she didn't, something felt wrong, off.
Driven by unease, he barged into the women's restroom without a second thought. Empty.
That was when the first prickles of fear crawled up his spine. His pulse quickened, his mind darting to possibilities he didn't want to name. He summoned his personal security detail, and within minutes, a full-scale search began.
The tension broke only when they checked the CCTV footage.
And there she was.
Eva. Walking out on her own. Calm. Unbothered. Leaving him.
The fear drained from his chest, replaced by a cold mix of fury and relief. She wasn't in danger, while he tore through the building like a man possessed, she had simply gone home, escaped and ran on her own, nothing at all was wrong with her.
When Damian finally arrived at the mansion, Gina had informed him sweetly, almost too sweetly, that his "perfect" wife was resting peacefully in her room. His teeth clenched so tightly, it was a miracle they didn't crack.
Now, this morning, dressed sharply in a tailored suit despite the weekend, two high-stakes business meetings awaited him before the evening's employee party, Damian had only one thought before leaving, to see Eva.
He didn't know if he wanted to just talk to her, scold her, or simply... just look at her. But he needed that moment. He just felt like seeing her before leaving the house
Yet, as the clock crawled past nine, her door remained shut. No sound. No sign.
She was still in her room, untouched by the storm she'd left behind.
"Sir, do you think we should go wake her up? It's a beautiful, bright morning, she shouldn't stay in bed too long," Gina suggested with her usual cheerful persistence.
Damian didn't answer. His silence was heavier than any spoken word.
Taking that as permission, Gina padded down the hallway and knocked lightly on Eva's door.
"Madame? Madame Eva?" she called. No reply. She tried again. And again. After the umpteenth attempt, her voice growing more insistent each time, Gina finally gave up and walked away with a resigned sigh.
The moment her footsteps faded, a pair of big rounded doe-like alerted eyes snapped open.
Turns out Eva wasn't sleeping at all.
Sleeping was the last thing on her mind, avoiding Damian was the first. After yesterday's little stunt, the last place she wanted to be was within his line of sight. As the saying goes, it's easier to wake someone who's actually asleep than someone determined to pretend.
Back in the dining room, Gina tried again.
"Sir, why not have breakfast without Madame? Whenever she wakes, she can have hers."
Damian reached for his fork and took a small bite from the plate in front of him. The flavor hit his tongue, and his expression soured instantly. He forced the mouthful down like it was an act of will.
"Gina, you're good at a lot of things," he said flatly, "but cooking isn't one of them."
She blinked. "Cooking is my strength base, sir."
"Not for me." He set the fork down with deliberate finality.
Her tone softened with worry. "But sir, you've hardly eaten anything lately. If this continues, your gastric issues might flare up again. Please, at least try to manage a little,"
He was already pushing back from the table when she added, "Or... maybe I could go wake your wife? I'm sure she could cook something for you."
"No. Let her sleep," he said sharply, but then paused mid-rise, a thought flickering in his eyes.
"On second thought, yesterday. Were you there when my wife made the, erh, noodles?"
Gina hesitated. "Yes, sir. I was there. And I did everything to explain to her about your deep dislike for noodles, but she wouldn't listen. Sir, she's your newly wedded wife... you could just maybe let this go, just this once? It won't happen again."
Damian's jaw twitched. Patience was thinning. Then he snorted seemingly irritated.
"I was going to ask," he said slowly, "can you perhaps replicate the exact noodles?"
Gina froze, caught off guard. "You... eat noodles now?"
Damian just stared at her. A stare that said more than words could, cold, pointed, unblinking.
She swallowed, spun on her heel, and hurried toward the kitchen without another sound.
But the real problem now wasn't the fact that her boss wanted noodles, it was that Gina, despite standing right there the day before, hadn't the faintest clue how Eva had actually made them.
Yes, she'd been in the kitchen. Yes, she'd watched. But she had been so certain the dish was destined for the trash that she hadn't bothered memorizing the process. Instead, she'd spent most of the time trying to talk Eva out of cooking it in the first place.
Now she wished she'd paid attention.
Taking a deep breath, Gina closed her eyes and replayed yesterday in her mind like a film reel. Step by step, she visualized the ingredients Eva had used, the little motions of her hands, the sequence of seasoning. Slowly, a picture began to form.
In the end, she managed to piece it together. And when she was done, she'd created a pot of noodles that looked, at least to her, even better than Eva's. Aromatic, glossy, every strand perfectly coated.
She plated it carefully and carried it to the dining table, almost proud.
Damian, still in his suit, picked up the fork with an unreadable expression. He twirled the noodles, took a bite...
_and spat it out immediately.
No grimace, no curse. Just a sharp, clean rejection.
He reached for his water glass, took a slow sip, then set it down with quiet precision. Without a single word, without a flicker of emotion, he collected his phone, car keys, and jacket, and walked out.
The sound of the door closing behind him was like a quiet slap. Gina stood frozen, scratching her head in bewilderment.
Upstairs, Eva had heard the faint rumble of the car starting. She rushed to her window, peering down into the vast courtyard just in time to see Damian's sleek black car disappearing through the gates.
Only then did she exhale. Relief washed over her shoulders like a warm wave.
She took her time bathing, then slipped into something soft and comfortable, weekend attire that asked nothing of her.
When she finally emerged, the house was alive with chatter. The maids swarmed around her, brimming with gossip about everything that had happened while she was "asleep." Eva smiled politely, but her focus shifted instantly when she spotted the steaming bowl on the table.
She sat, took a bite, and her eyebrows lifted.
The flavors were, good. Better than good. She was halfway through the bowl before someone casually mentioned that the meal had been originally prepared for Damian. That he'd left without eating. Again.
Her fork paused mid-air. For some reason, the thought didn't sit right. She wished, strangely, that she'd come out sooner. She wondered where he'd gone on a weekend, and why it bothered her that he'd left hungry.
Then Gina approached, notebook in hand, and asked for the exact method Eva had used to make yesterday's noodles. Eva explained it step by step, watching as Gina's eyes widened.
She'd done it exactly the same way. So what was the problem?
Curious, Eva took another bite from the bowl. It was even better than hers, of course it was. Gina was a trained chef.
So why, she wondered, didn't Damian like it?
That evening, Eva was curled up on her bed, lazily watching a soap opera when her phone buzzed.
"Hey, Eva! Where are you already?" Cathy's voice rang out, high and cheerful over the deafening thump of music in the background.
Eva blinked, trying to place the noise, then it hit her. Gina had mentioned something about a company party yesterday.
"Come on, everyone's here!" Cathy squealed before the line went dead.
Eva shrugged, set the phone aside, and turned back to her show. But twenty minutes later, it rang again.
"Where are you, Eva? You're my only friend here and I feel so alone! Please, please come," Cathy pleaded, her voice melting into the bass-heavy music on her end.
Eva smiled faintly but didn't budge.
Thirty minutes later, Gina's voice came blasting through her phone as she screamed.
"Guess what, Eva? The boss himself is here! You would not believe it!"
Eva's eyebrows arched. "Damian went to the party?"
One hour later, Gina's call came again, but this time, her voice was barely above a whisper, urgent and giddy.
"Eva... he's here. Eric. You need to see him. He looks so dashing tonight, God, Eva, his blue eyes are staring at me right now and I swear I feel like confessing everything. Why aren't you here? I need you for emotional support. If you don't come, I will never speak to you again!"
Eva exhaled sharply, the kind of sigh that was half-annoyance, half-resignation.
"Okay, I'm coming," she muttered, stretching like a lazy cat before rolling off the bed.
Truth be told, she was too comfortable here. The house was warm, quiet, and deliciously peaceful. The idea of wading into a crowd of loud strangers wasn't exactly tempting, but Gina's theatrics had left her little choice.
She wandered into her cloakroom, scanning racks of fabric until her gaze snagged on the dress.
It was a deep, midnight-blue evening gown with a daring thigh-high slit that teased the perfect length of her legs with every imagined step. The satin hugged her curves like a lover's hand, its subtle shimmer catching the light with each movement.
She paired it with diamond-drop earrings that kissed her neck when she turned her head, and a delicate choker that drew attention to the graceful line of her collarbone. A slim silver cuff curled elegantly around her wrist, and a matching ring caught the light when she reached for her heels, strappy stilettos in black patent leather that made her legs look like they went on forever.
Gina, ever the perfectionist, swooped in to help with her hair, loose, glossy waves tumbling effortlessly down her shoulders. A sweep of red lipstick brought fire to her smile, and a touch of smoky shadow framed her eyes in sultry mystery.
By the time she was done, Eva looked less like the girl curled up watching TV an hour ago and more like a siren who could walk into any room and own it.
She didn't want to arrive in something too ceremonious, so she bypassed the flashier cars in Damian's collection and chose a Rolls-Royce Sweptail, sleek, elegant, and discreet in its wealth.
And just like that, she was on her way to the party.